"The world didn't stop the day you died. But mine did. The sun kept shining, and the clouds kept moving as I stood there in the wreckage of a life I knew would never be the same."

Today marks another birthday that James celebrated in heaven.

I've shared this story before, but it bears repeating because it captures a profound truth about grief that sticks with me every day.

After James passed, as my parents and I walked out of the hospital into what felt like a new world, the contrast between life and death struck me. The hospital was bustling, a stark contrast to our quiet devastation. While waiting for the elevators, a family with a newborn passed by, oblivious to our sorrow. Looking at that baby—so full of potential at the start of their journey—I was painfully reminded of the cruel, beautiful cycle of life.

I used to joke that the first 14 years of marriage were the hardest—that's how long I was married before I lost James. Marriage requires constant nurturing, as does navigating life after your partner has gone.

Widowhood is like being thrust into an alternate reality where the one person you counted on to help you face life's challenges is forever gone. I've faced tears, anger, and sadness, but amidst that, I've also experienced moments of profound beauty and growth.

This "new" life of mine isn't bad; it's just radically different from the one I envisioned. Living through widowhood is a masterclass in rediscovery, a daily exercise in piecing together a new normal.

To everyone bearing the weight of grief, remember, you are not alone. We tread this path together, step by step, navigating through the chaos and beauty life offers, transformed but undeterred.

Life is full of surprises—some sweet, some bitter. Lately, I've been feeling the bitter side as I face waves of grief that come crashing back, even three years after losing my husband, James. It's clear now that grief doesn't follow a timetable or fade away completely. It shifts, changes, and sometimes hits harder than before, making me reflect on the times we could have shared together.

Grief Doesn't Clock Out

On tough days, I catch myself being hard on myself, thinking, "It's been three years; shouldn't I be past this?" But grief isn't something that ends. While the initial shock isn't as sharp, the heart doesn't easily forget the "what ifs" and lost shared moments that linger, especially during times when I miss having James by my side.

A Sign in a Song

Sometimes, just when I need it most, life throws me a little nudge to keep going. Recently, there was a song by Dylan Scott called "What He'll Never Have." It felt like it was played just for me, perfectly capturing the essence of James's spirit. James was always a giver, never hesitating to lend a hand. The song reminded me that he wanted me to continue embracing life, sharing our dreams, and accepting that our unique love is irreplaceable.

Moving Forward Without Moving On

James encouraged me to live fully and find happiness again, even in his absence. That means moving forward, not moving on. Our love was ours alone, crafted by moments and memories no one else can replicate. Accepting that my path has veered in new directions is challenging but crucial. Life and love can still be fulfilling—just in a new and different way.

Conclusion: Embracing the Journey

Each day offers a fresh chance to heal, learn, and find joy. Though I revisit the depths of grief at times, I also encounter signs of hope and new beginnings. My journey through grief is about integrating this experience into my life, allowing it to shape me without defining me. As I navigate this complex emotional landscape, I am reminded of life's enduring beauty and the promise of new opportunities.